Penitence and Presumptions
by starry19
Summary: "She kept coming back to the look in his eyes - the shattered, broken one that said he truly felt he had just been betrayed by her. By her, the one person he thought he could trust."


AN: Apparently I can't contain myself. This may or may not be my last story before embarking on some sort of maternity leave. Along those same lines, don't hold your breath for an episode tag from the premiere. I'm sure I'd love to write one, but I'm also sure I'm going to be one big, hot, massively sleep-deprived mess. However, I'm sure the lovely Donna will fulfill all of your episode tag wants. ;)

This piece is all conjunction, all based on sneak peaks and promos. It's probably all terribly inaccurate, too, but hey, I don't control my brain.

**Penitence and Presumptions**

There were times, she thought, when it was amazing that she'd managed to exercise enough restraint to not shoot him.

Or smother him.

Or hit him over the head with something blunt and heavy.

A teapot, maybe. There would be some sort of irony in that, she was sure of it, although English particulars had never been her strong point.

She couldn't remember the last time she had been more upset with him. Possibly it was when she found out about Vegas, or Lorelei, or when he had lied to her about his feelings for the aforementioned late mistress of Red John.

But those were a different sort of hurt. He had hurt_ her _by his actions, by his words, had broken her trust.

Now he was accusing her of doing the same.

_Tell no one!_

His angry hiss echoed in her ears, the devastated look in his eyes haunting. He was behaving like she had put his list of suspects on a billboard in the middle of downtown Sacramento.

Indeed, she had done no such thing. She had told Grace, someone she trusted implicitly. And someone who had the capability of doing some electronic surveillance without anyone noticing. Really, she was the ideal ally.

It was just Jane and his damn secretive tendencies and paranoia. Like they didn't need all the help they could get, especially since Red John was closing in on them, too.

How dare he accuse her of being out of her depth, of breaking his trust?

Well, she had news for him. This was still _her_ case, and Jane was _her_ consultant, there _only_ because she allowed it. Who was out of their depth now?

So she had stormed out, emotions swirling, leaving him in a literal and proverbial cloud of dust. Childishly, she hoped it ruined his suit. And his hair.

Honestly, she was doing what she thought was best. After all that the team had been through together, she felt that they deserved to be protected, too. For the love of God, Grace had shot and killed her fiance after discovering he worked for Red John. Was Jane really concerned about her loyalty?

Fiercely irritated, she drove too fast back to the office, muttering under her breath the entire way.

She kept coming back to the look in his eyes - the shattered, broken one that said he truly felt he had just been betrayed by her. By _her_, the one person he thought he could trust.

It bothered her deeply. In her mind, she had done no such thing, would _never_ do any such thing. Truthfully, she knew she would die before betraying him so the idea that he thought she had was devastating.

Didn't he know her by now? Surely he knew how she felt about him.

There was another thing...he was pointedly ignoring what Sean Barlow had said. She had thought that perhaps they would have a conversation about it. But that was apparently how Jane was going to deal with whatever was between them - ignore it. Just like he'd done in Vegas when she'd confronted him about his words.

That stung, more than she would admit to herself. However, even without admitting it, she could still feel it.

She slammed the door to the Chevy with much more force than was necessary, furious with the tears that threatened to fall.

The bullpen was quiet when she reached it, her team out in the field. Briefly, she considered getting into the tequila but that was for celebrating good days, not dealing with the mess that Patrick Jane had caused in her life.

She doubted it would take the edge off, anyway.

An hour or so later, she tried to reach Rigsby, to see if he and Cho had made much progress but her damn phone was acting up. It kept saying that she had no signal, or that she was on roaming, and it took a great deal of restraint to not hit the thing with the hammer in her drawer.

Evening fell, and she still had had no word in from anyone. An uneasy tingle crawled up her spine, but she tried to shake it off.

The phone on her desk rang.

"Lisbon," she answered automatically.

It was the night guard in the west parking lot, wondering if she could come down and take a look at something suspicious. Frowning, sense of impending doom start to blossom, she hung up, checking twice to make sure her gun was loaded.

The west parking lot was devoid of a guard.

She drew her weapon, eyes scanning the rows of parked cars, looking for anything that seemed out of place.

Senses on high, she heard the squealing of tires from the front of the building, but it sounded like the vehicle was coming _in,_ not going out. Running now, she sprinted back inside, taking the stairs two at a time until she reached the SCU floor.

She saw it almost immediately.

The painted face, leering down at her from the glass wall surrounding the bullpen.

Horror mounting, she looked around, dreading what she would find. But there was no body that she could see, no dark crumpled form sprawled beneath the gruesome calling card.

It had been a warning, then. Or a reminder.

Instinctively, she took a step back, out of the line of sight of anyone that would come down the hallway. She had just reached for her phone, forgetting that it had been inoperable for most of the afternoon, when she heard the footsteps on the tiles.

Her senses had been dulled by shock and it took her just a split second too long to react.

She spun, stupidly, gasping.

She had a fleeting glimpse of blonde curls before she was crushed against Jane's chest, his arms wound tightly around her. His heart was beating wildly against her ear, breath coming in shallow pants.

He said nothing for several moments, cheek pressed against her hair. Later, she would find bruises where his fingertips had dug into her back.

Tentatively, she rested her hands on his sides. His muscles felt unbearably tense.

Abruptly, he pulled back far enough to cradle her face in his palms, his expression one of such relief she thought she saw tears.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice a little unsteady.

"Just fine," she replied, confused by his reaction. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Jane scanned her face, apparently checking for truth, then took another half-step back, his hands dropping to his sides. "I've been trying to call you for hours," he said, tone now accusing. "I know we were fighting, but this is a hell of a time to ignore me."

She shook her head defensively. "My phone hasn't been working all day." She pulled the device out of her pocket. "No missed calls, no nothing."

He pushed his tumbling hair off of his forehead, swearing softly. "The last time I called your number," he said, and she saw him swallow hard, "Red John picked up."

A shiver crawled over her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"I thought," he said, then stopped, apparently struggling for words. "I thought I lost you," he eventually admitted.

She tried for a brave face. "Scare tactics," she said. "That's all it was." And damned if they weren't working.

The emotions playing across his face were something to behold. She couldn't think of a time where she had seen him more vulnerable, more open.

Cautiously, she touched his cheek, the lingering fear in his eyes compelling her to act. Subtly, he leaned into her palm, so subtly she wasn't sure he realized he was doing it. "It's okay," she whispered, "but we need to call someone."

Visibly shaking off whatever feelings were controlling him, he reached for his phone, hurriedly punching in numbers. She crossed the hall into her office, reaching for the landline, and within a minute, the entire floor was swarming with alarmed and armed CBI agents.

The rest of her team showed up within a half hour, and she recounted her story, hopefully for the last time. Jane hadn't let her out of his sight.

Predictably, the security footage was useless, all static and prerecorded loops. A sample of the blood that made up the smiling face on the wall had already been taken to forensics, and a thorough search of the building had been conducted. As far as anyone could tell, there was no body anywhere, no visible source for the blood.

She watched the progress of all of this from her office, standing at one glass wall, Jane at her side.

Whatever angry words that had passed between them earlier seemed unimportant in the face of this new threat.

Crime scene techs snapped pictures of the entire bullpen, their flashes lending a sporadic air to the place. This wasn't supposed to happen here - headquarters was supposed to be safe.

And yet, this was certainly not the first time this haven had been invaded. Memories of Sam Bosco flashed through her mind, and she shifted restlessly, her hand brushing Jane's purely by accident.

To her surprise, his fingers reached out, curling around hers. His grip was tight, and she softly ran her thumb over his knuckles.

The last time they had held hands, sitting on a pile of dirt in the desert, she hadn't been sure of what Jane was after. Solace? Solidarity?

There was little doubt here, though. He had been scared that he'd lost her, and he was looking for reassurance.

"What do you think his next move is going to be?" she asked once, never looking at him.

"I don't know," he replied quietly. "And I'm scared to find out."

She knew what the words really meant - he was afraid that next time the painted face would be grinning out at him from above her lifeless body.

Together, fingers still laced, they stared at the crime scene until the last person had left.

It was going to be a long night.

She doubted it would be the last.


End file.
